This Kind of Weather Screws With My Rhyme

Age of the dying light
Rage against this foolish plight
That burning ball up in the sky
Doesn’t seem like it wants to shine
The weathered days and the marred years
The lost hopes and heightened fears
This time, forward it no longer moves
Still it stands, deep in space’s grooves
Leaves have left the trees, their hosts
The temperature has nothing to boast
Age of the dying light
Rage against this foolish plight
Time does not want to backtrack
And give me again what I lack